


Pumpkin spice with an undecent ammount of cream

by tennisuhs



Series: FICTOBER2018 [4]
Category: CLC (Band)
Genre: Autumn, Cafe AU, F/F, Fluff and Crack, Mild Language, a very panicked sorn, and a very amused bambam, because they are distressed college students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tennisuhs/pseuds/tennisuhs
Summary: Seasons were only the background for companies to ask for money: “hey! Do you want to be like that girl, long curly hair, perfect make up, that is looking through the window as autumn settles in? Then come buy here! Everything is orange, red, maroon and brown and it tastes like pumpkin!”Seasons could suck Sorn’s toe for all they were worth.“And what would you like today?”“A pumpkin spice latte, please.”Or where Sorn has this big crush on a barista.





	Pumpkin spice with an undecent ammount of cream

Seasons. What a weird concept, really. The world, as it turns, brings new weathers, the climate changes and adapts and consequently so do the fauna and the flora of the different parts of the globe. They bring rains, floods, droughts, thunderstorms and snow, the wonders of nature, truly. For a few months new events happen, affecting everyone accordingly, making people change their whole attire, their whole wardrobe in the pursuit of a basic human need: keeping a good corporal temperature.

Seasons were cycles, they signalized beginnings, endings and everything in between. Making it so that societies shaped traditions around them. And it was fascinating, it really was, even more so when after living in a place where people only know the sun, tropical climate damning groups of people to modify their schedules, to only understand and comprehend one single season: spring. When you live like that for almost two decades, then the fascination of snow in the middle of the night settles, the internment jump scares of thunders make your heart leap.

However, by the second month you find that it wasn’t all that much really. That rain only makes the trains go slower, people grumpier; that snow sticks to your boots and leaves a brown pile that smells like rotten plastic (if that’s even possible), on the streets and it’s not pretty; that lightning passes by with a blink of an eye and that sun, in the end, could fuck off.

That after all mom’s cooking is the best, that spring means flowers and cold tea and long nights. That the rest, summer, winter and autumn are nothing but a product to appeal those mases who still think seasons matter. They tug on the nostalgia of a world that wasn’t doomed to be hotter than ever; they appeal to those perfectly, postal like images found on search engines. Seasons were only the background for companies to ask for money: “hey! Do you want to be like that girl, long curly hair, perfect make up, that is looking through the window as autumn settles in? Then come buy here! Everything is orange, red, maroon and brown and it tastes like pumpkin!”

Seasons could suck Sorn’s toe for all they were worth.

“And what would you like today?”

“A pumpkin spice latte, please.”

The place had changed decoration accordingly to the weather: autumn leaves threaded into crowns decorated the walls alongside the permanent art hanging there, the candles on the counter smelled like old wood and rain, and the busy employers were buzzing around in maroon shirts instead. Music was now a mixture of guitar covers, and girls singing out of beat to old songs.

Ignoring her friend’s comment of how much of an hypocrite Sorn was, always giving the same speech right before ordering the season special, the girl extended her credit card and membership card to the bartender, completely absorbed by the smile she grew used to seeing every day.

Yes, Sorn had the most cliché, stupid and unobtainable crush on the Starbuck barista. Even though she knew nothing but her name, and some bits of information she had acquired after two years of being a regular, and small talk created out of politeness, curiosity and comradery. The girl couldn’t be that much older than her, face still conserving somewhat of baby fat and her smile wide and innocent; eyes like a doll and fringe straight flopping on her forehead, Seunghee was ravishingly adorable.

That kind of adorable where Sorn felt the upmost necessity of jump over that counter and pinch those cheeks, hold her face and smooch her for hours. But that could be her biased, romanticist heart talking. There was also her voice, kind of low pitched and secure, but also squeaky when she laughed at something a stressed-due-finals Sorn had told her.

Delicate hands had been writing Sorn’s name everyday, some days with a ‘fighting!’ under it, others with ‘have a good day!’ but mostly with a smiley face. Sorn remembers the day where a small heart took the O’s place in her name. She would have treasured that paper cup if Bambam hadn’t called her gross and threw that for her. The boy had found himself in a headlock within second, and was forced to buy her a bear plushie.

Also Seunghee was the only bartender that ever stopped in her tracks to make sure she was writing Sorn’s name properly.

“Your name please?” it was the first time Seunghee talked to Sorn, eyebrows raised under the fringe, pen ready to taint the cup. And Sorn stood there for a bit too long, marveling in the craftwork of Seunghee’s nail art.

“Sorn.” Came after Bambam had elbowed her on the ribs.

Seunghee started writing, turning away before stopping midway and spinning on her heels. 

“Wait say that again?” the bartender asked sweet and shy.

“Sorn?” also, worth mentioning that a Sorn before her coffee sounded mean, your typical mean girl from any stupid teenage movie from the 90’s.

“L-like hand?”

Maybe it was the way she cutely held her hand for Sorn to see, maybe it was the fact that she had pouty lips as she asked, maybe how she was still using a very sweet tone, or the bracelet (clearly self made) with the bisexual pride flag around her wrist; but Sorn felt it then. When Seunghee mistakenly called her a hand, that’s when Sorn’s brain basically put its imaginary feet down to say ‘that’s it, that’s the one.’

Shaking her hand, Sorn couldn’t repress a smile. “No, no.” also using her finger to write the letters in the air, she leaned in a little. “S-O-R-N” she said in the best English accent she could muster at seven in the morning.

Seunghee let out the smallest ‘ooh’, and obediently wrote the name down. Okay but, sit tight because not only she was being the most charming, endearing, soft thing Sorn had ever seen, but she was also puckering her lips as she wrote. Sorn’s hand was about to come up from her sides to clutch her chest, when the bartender showed her the cup.

“Like this?”

Sorn could only nod then, all air kicked out form her lungs. Only a small whimper muffled by her own lips shut tight was heard from her as she extended her credit card.

“We are from Thailand!” chimed in Bambam from beside her, absolutely delighted by the scene, demonstrated by his big eat shitting grin.

“Is that so?” Seunghee asked once more, returning the credit card and doing what will become a signature gesture: nodding at Sorn and smiling before saying a cheery “Okay, coming up!” In a heavily accented English.

Back to the present, Sorn after giving her speech knew what was coming. Bambam’s never ending talk of how he missed his boyfriend. Even if he was from Korea, Yugyeom decided to take his last course of dance school in New York, from where he would snap Bambam every day. It was no secret that Bambam was terrified, not that he didn’t trust his boyfriend but, the Thai boy had issues and by venting how much he missed being cuddled he seemed to live at peace.

So, Sorn sighed and let the tales of what Yugyeom had lived in New York the previous day, begin.

Pumpkin spice took a while to make, even if the employers spent hours beforehand preparing the mixture to reduce the process, it still took longer than a normal coffee. And while Bambam talked, Sorn leaned in the counter, watching Seunghee busy herself with different machines that let out all sorts of noises.

Only when a hand adorned by a tremendously large number of rings came in contact with her arm, Sorn turned her whole attention to her friend. Currently speaking about the night scene in New York.

“He said you’d love the place, since it’s perfect for desperate lesbians who have unrequired crushes on baristas.”

When Beyoncé said in the song Feeling Myself, “world stop” and the song actually stopped, Sorn would never imagined it was based on a real event: that moment in particular. Because, the moment when Bambam decided to speak in Korean, and say those words really felt like all sounds and music had fell deaf. Or maybe it was only Sorn whose body decided to permanently shut down from feeling. That moment had to be immortalized somehow, and Beyoncé did a good work.

But it would never capture how Sorn and Seunghee’s eyes met for a split second. How the younger felt her eyes expand in size, while the other repressed a smile before grabbing the beverage.

As she walked towards the couple of friends, Sorn feared for the worst: mockery, refusal, heart break, a cold sword through her heart. However that would have been for the best, so her wobbly knees would finally just bend over and her heart could actually catch a break.  
What happened was quite…different: Seunghee walked in slow motion, her hair waving in the wind and her eyes half closed. Okay, maybe that was a misconception created by a very lovesick Sorn but, the fact was that when Sorn was about to grab the damn paper cup, ready to flee from there, a hand stopped her.

“Don’t forget your Wi-Fi ticket.” An angelic voice reminded her as a paper was extended through the counter.

“T-thanks!” and, following the plan, Sorn all but ran out of there, followed by a cackling Bambam.

After almost beating the shit out of his friend, kicking him on the knees and managing to not spill the drink everywhere; Sorn opened the folded paper with shaky hands. And almost dropped dead at the ‘U could just have asked for my number’ written in thick marker brushes. It took one look for Bambam to extend her hand, taking Sorn’s pumpkin spice latte with an extremely undecent amount of cream, in his free hand.

Sorn breathed and entered the Starbuck again.

“Good to see you again, so soon Sorn. Is there anything I could do for you?”

**Author's Note:**

> and this is it for day 4! i really wanted to write a wlw pariring and they happen to be my favourite! i really hope you enjoyed this crackhead of adventure. again i can't do endings. 
> 
> in case you want to follow my twitter its @yhsdior  
> and my curiouscat! https://curiouscat.me/youngghos


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